


Weak One

by thirsyduck



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:42:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24139066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thirsyduck/pseuds/thirsyduck
Summary: No longer having the highest internet follower count, Mark Beaks enlists the help of Gizmoduck with an offer he can't refuse.
Relationships: Mark Beaks/Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera
Comments: 8
Kudos: 62





	1. Chapter 1

Cheeks puffed with anticipation; Fenton watched seconds tick by on his phone’s clock screen. He tapped his fingers against the blueprint desk he sat at. His swivel stool rolled from side to side as he rocked in excitement. He was so close, everything he had been working for over the past week was about to culminate into a singular spectacular moment and Fenton wasn’t going to miss a second of it.

Then the clock struck 9pm and Fenton exploded, leaping from his chair and sending it crashing off against a wall.

“Woohoo!” he shouted, hands held high in the air. He twirled away from the desk to the statue-headed horse behind him, currently doing its best to sweep up with hooved hands.

“You see Manny! One whole week without Dr. Gearloose and nothing in the lab exploded!” There had been several close calls, and for the first few days Fenton hadn’t been sure they could pull it off. But golly, they’d persevered and with a little ingenuity and a lot of hard work, not a single thing had blown up.

“None of the inventions turned evil, either. Boy, what a week.” Fenton ran a hand through his hair as a de-stressor. The entire week had seen him a big, bundle of nerves. With so many intricately tuned inventions that required constant monitoring for even the smallest sign of malfunction; it was no wonder his boss was always so stressed.

But Fenton had done it. Placed in charge of the lab for a whole week while Doctor Gearloose and BOYD were back in Tokyolk. It was his first week as an employed scientist too and not just a tentatively tolerated intern.

“Doctor Gearloose is going to be so proud of me- uh, I mean us. Hehe,” he chuckled and rubbed the back of his head sheepishly when Manny gave him a _look_. It was the same as all his other looks, but still got across his unimpressed disposition.

On his way to put away the broom, Manny clopped his front hooves together, reminding Fenton of the Money Bin incident. To which he could only scoff.

“Those numbers had been off way before we were even hired—and I said no explosions _inside_ the lab.” That was an important distinction because Fenton had strictly been placed in charge of the underwater lab. So, having taken his assignment as seriously as it deserved, Fenton hadn’t left the lab for anything but Gizmoduck patrolling in a week.

Which may have led to he and Manny missing the numbers running dangerously high on the Money Bin’s electricity grid. Which may have resulted in a blown fuse box that blew a hole in the left side of the bin. But hey, no one got hurt and it had taken under an hour to repair as Gizmoduck. All in all, there had been more destructive _days_ working for Mr. McDuck, let alone weeks.

He jumped again, fist pumping in the air as he did. After landing he went for the mop in the custodial closet. Manny had swept and while it wasn’t the day to mop—that was Saturday—Fenton wanted to make sure the lab was sparkling when Doctor Gearloose came back. Everything had to be perfect, not a blueprint out of place and not one grease stain on the floor.

He passed Manny, who clopped at him, asking Fenton was heading out with him.

Fenton shook his head as he wheeled out the mop bucket. “Nope, I’m staying until this place sparkles.” He waved a hand through the air over the lab’s interior, imagining the shine and Dr. Gearloose’s expression when he saw it.

Manny stomped a hoof, asking if Fenton needed any help. He smiled, “No, I got it. You head on home; unlike me you’ve got work in the morning.” What a swell guy Manny was. Fenton was glad they had been able to work out their deep-seated, almost irreconcilable differences.

Like the one where Dr. Gearloose had valued Manny as an intern over him to the point the horse was seriously considered as a replacement for him. But not anymore! Now, Fenton was the full-time scientist and Manny the only intern employed.

His coworker shrugged and flicked a hoofed wave as he left, one Fenton returned with a smile.

With both their shifts over, the only thing holding Fenton back in the underwater lab was his need to prove to Dr. Gearloose that he hadn’t made a mistake in hiring him. There had been so much uncertainty when they had first returned to Duckburg. The good doctor was unused to working with someone who, while not above him in the chain of command, wasn’t someone he could just dismiss or um, be just a little too rude to. At times.

Not that Fenton held anything against him for that! Dr. Gearloose was a great scientist and before they had been able to really work out Fenton’s new place on the job, he had been called back to Tokyolk by a very irate inspector Tzuka. It wasn’t her call, but the robot task force had specifically asked for the doctor to help them clear out Dr. Akita’s old lab. They were worried about traps or the possibilities of more evil robots inside. BOYD had gone with Dr. Gearloose and, well—

Oh, he was so excited! After Dr. Gearloose approved and maybe even praised his management of the lab, he and his M’Ma were going out to celebrate. Tomorrow morning the doctor would be back and Fenton would have his first day off in over a week. Not that he had been complaining, or even needed a day off. Work was its own reward and when science was involved, it was hardly work at all.

Fenton spun and danced to a song in his head as he mopped around the lab, checking for loose screws, jiggly bolts, and that all the cords to unnecessary equipment had been unplugged; saved money, after all. For once in his life, everything was going so perfectly— Oh, what a perfect way to start his first week as a full-time employee and as the unofficial Doctor Crackshell-Cabrera.

_Ring. Ring._

Fenton stopped mopping long enough to look up at the old landline phone that hung above the blueprint table.

_Ring. Ring._

Someone was calling the lab’s phone? At this hour?

_Ring. Ring._

The only people who had the number where himself, Manny, Dr. Gearloose, and Mr. McDuck. All their inventions where oh-so-very secret, they couldn’t afford to tell anyone else. That meant the phone call must be important.

He rushed over to the table, slipping over the wet floor as he did. He picked up the phone, only just managing to catch himself on the desk before falling.

“ _Woah-lo,_ how can I help you—”

Fenton was cut off.

“Hey Gizzy, long time no—”

_Click._

Oh no. Oh nononono! Not now, not today, it couldn’t be. It wasn’t. After a week of non-stop work, Fenton had to be delirious. It wouldn’t be the first time. There was no way who he thought called had actually called. How would they have even gotten the number? Impossible. He would just ignore it, go back to mopping, and everything would—

_Buzz. Buzz._

His cellphone, left on the desk, was vibrating. Fenton glanced down at his phone like it was a slowly emerging monster in a horror movie. A single bead of sweat dripped off his beak as he gulped.

Unknown number.

Fenton swiped down to hang up without answering the phone or even picking it up.

Nope. No, no, no. Not today. He was not putting up with any of that bird’s evil nonsense. Fenton was closing on a perfect week and he was not about to let it be ruined by a nemesis. His most annoying one at that. Fenton would finish perfecting the lab and then he would go home, have a nice microwave meal, and sleep until his body woke itself up.

Then, and only then, if the problem persisted, would he give Mark Beaks the acknowledgment the Waddle CEO craved to such an unhealthy extent.

He had learned from experience that giving Beaks attention only emboldened the billionaire.

Ignoring his cellphone, Fenton went back to tidying up the already immaculate lab. He swept up a few areas Manny hadn’t been able to get to and he checked over every single invention. The lab’s phone started ringing again. He wiped down every computer screen, made every piece of spare metal shine. The lab’s phone continued to ring. Fenton continued to ignore it. Instead he focused on greasing the wheels on all the swivel chairs for maximum roll efficiency. Still, the phone continued to ring. And still, Fenton ignored it. He scrubbed under all the desks and used disinfectant wipes on every flat surface; all the while mopping behind everywhere he went.

Well over an hour had passed before Fenton finished cleaning the lab.

The phone still hadn’t stopped ringing.

An eye twitched at the sound and Fenton’s already exposed nerves were starting to fray, so close to snapping. He slammed the wet mop into its bucket, sloshing dirty water all over his clean floors. His fists clenched in annoyance and he scowled. Beaks was more determined than usual and it didn’t seem like he was going to stop calling anytime soon. What if Fenton went home and Beaks called that phone too? The parasitic parrot could wake his dear M’Ma, who already didn’t get enough sleep what with the long hours she was putting in at the police station.

Just the thought of Beaks inconveniencing Fenton’s mother in any way was enough to have him marching over to the blueprint desk and angrily grabbing the phone, its cord swinging as he did. And before Beaks could even get a word out, he was giving the bird a well-deserved piece of his mind.

“Whatever it is; no. No, no, no. No tricks, no plots. Whatever you’re up to, I want no part of it,” he growled into the receiver.

“Yeesh, Giz, you don’t even know what I want—and blocking my number? Not cool man,” Beaks pouted and Fenton huffed, rolling his eyes in annoyance.

Fenton had blocked no less than four numbers on his phone since he first bought it, each and every one of them belonging to Beaks. Lot of good it had done him, though, as the villainous bird could apparently create new ones whenever he wished. Fenton would block one, and then a few days later Beaks would be calling him from a new one. It had gotten to the point that if he didn’t already know who was calling, he let it go to voicemail.

“Stop calling me,” Fenton said, ignoring the other’s whining. “I’m done being used by you.”

“Yeah? Well, how about threatened?” Beaks shot back without missing a beat.

“… What are you talking about?” Fenton asked, his grip on the phone tightening.

“Check your cellphone; you should have seen it, like, an hour ago.”

Seen what?

“It better not be another phishing email…,” he trailed off as he picked up his cellphone. Among the missed calls, he had a missed text message from an unknown number. He unlocked his phone and checked what it was.

His heart thudded to a stop as the angry sweat that had been beading his brow turned cold.

“Huey…”

The message contained a single selfie; Beaks smiling with his arm around a distressed looking Huey, who was shoving at the older bird as hard as he could.

“Beaks, I swear if you’ve hurt him—”

He didn’t even manage to get the warning out before the parrot was mocking him for it.

“Pffft, you’ll what? C’mon, your list of dropped bodies is as high as your follower count—ala nada.”

That… didn’t make any sense. Not the dropped bodies thing, the attempt at Spanish. If that’s what it even was. But what did it matter? Beaks had Huey; Fenton had to save him. Anything after was inconsequential.

“Now, back to—”

“Where is he?” Fenton demanded, not about to play Beaks’ game.

“Woah, calm down bucko,” Beaks said. “You’ll get the kid back, no harm done, all you have to do is help me with a little… problem I’ve been having.”

Fenton closed his eyes and breathed hotly through his nostrils. Usually not an easy bird to anger, Beaks had a special way of infuriating him. Probably had something to do with the number of times he’d been used, tricked, and outright attacked by the parrot. That the man had kidnapped a child, Huey, had him close to firing his air-to-elbow missiles at Waddle headquarters in retaliation.

… Which was not the hero thing to do. And he wouldn’t, ever, but if becoming a full-time employee for Dr. Gearloose had taught him anything, a bird could dream. 

“What. Problem.”

“Finally, ugh, I’ve been waiting for you to ask for like, the past hour.”

Something finally clicked in his mind at the hour remark.

Huey had been within Beaks grasp ever since that first ring. Anything could have happened to him during that time. By ignoring Beaks, he had been inadvertently ignoring a child’s plight. The anger toward the parrot started to turn inward and Fenton shook his head, biting his bottom bill. That could come later, after he saved Huey and apologized every day for the rest of his life. Right now, he needed to focus, he needed to keep his mind clear and he needed to think of how to save Huey. Not an easy task, but when was anything ever easy when Mark Beaks was involved?

Beaks had Huey, which meant he had Gizmoduck at his mercy.

“So, like, you know how I have the highest follower count on _every_ social media?” 

“… Yes?”

No, Fenton didn’t. He was too busy doing real science and coming up with original inventions to bother with any kind of media. Not everyone could steal their genius, and after the, uh, Bulb Tech incident he had sworn off internet forums.

“Well, I don’t,” Beaks barked into the phone. “Last week some lame brain, debutante _dog_ passed me up. She’s been all five of the top five trending topics and out buzzing me no matter what I do!”

Fenton couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Beaks was a terrible, awful man who only cared about accruing his wealth and internet fame, but even Fenton had never thought he would stoop so low as to—

“And you thought kidnapping a child would put you back on top?” he said incredulously.

“Huh? Ha-no, the mini-giz is just to ensure _you_ help me get back on top.”

“So… you kidnapped a child so I would help you gain more—more _internet followers?!_ ”

“Uh, yeah?” Beaks said it like it was the most obvious, non-insidious thing in the world.

“… You’re crazy,” Fenton breathed into the phone.

“Che-ya, crazy smart. I mean, this is totally going to make me untouchable as an influencer. I’ll be on top of the trending tab for the rest of my life.” The pure joy he heard in Beak’s voice made Fenton want to throw something. The man had kidnapped a _child_ ; why didn’t he see how serious an offense that was?

“Let me get this straight— Gizmoduck helps you get more followers, and you let Huey go?” Fenton pinched the ridge of his beak, the scheme somehow sounding more ridiculous when said out loud.

“Yeah, show up, do exactly as I tell you and the kid’ll be juuuust fine. But no suit. Just you and those bargain-bin rags you usually wear.” Why that—his _mother_ bought him these clothes.

Wait, no suit?

“What do you need me for? Without the suit I’m just—”

“Dude, chillax, you’ve got your part to play and I’ve got mine. Don’t worry, it’s going to be awesome, you’ll love it.”

Fenton highly doubted that.

“Oh, and before you think about running off to Mommy or McBoring or whoever—You tell _anyone_ about this, who called, where you’re going, and red kid is getting canceled; permanently. Because I promise, you won’t find him if you don’t go exactly where I tell you.”

Didn’t mean he couldn’t try on the way.

“… Okay.” Fenton twisted the phone’s cord around his finger like it was a strand of hair. Whatever Beaks was up to, he’d stop him. The parrot had gone too far and it really shouldn’t be Fenton who concerned him; Beaks had kidnapped one of Scrooge McDuck’s nephews. One word to the eccentric old duck and not even Gizmoduck would be enough to protect him. Not that he would, he’d let the suit rust before using it to help Beaks.

… That didn’t sound very hero-like either.

“And you’re probably thinking oh, wow, I can _totally_ get help like some loser without Mark finding out; but like… you really want to take that chance, Hero?”

No, he didn’t, but that didn’t mean he would… He couldn’t just go along with whatever Beaks wanted. The billionaire had tricked him more than once, but Fenton had caught onto his slick talk. Whatever the parrot said, this was about the suit. It always was with him. He was just trying to lure Fenton in and take it while he was away. That had to be it.

“I’ll be there, just don’t hurt him.”

“Sweet, I’m texting you the address now, ttyl, and remember— _No suit._ ”

_Click._

After Beaks hung up, Fenton didn’t wait for the dial tone before doing the same.

He slammed his hands onto the desk, glaring at the blueprints spread out over it. He grit his teeth before running and hand through his hair, only to stick both hands in and muss it up in frustration.

“Gah! I can’t believe he… of all the…” His eyes hardened, his glare going from the blueprints to his cellphone, the address showing up in a message underneath the photo of Huey and Beaks.

“This time you’ve gone too far, Beaks.”

So, the parrot thought he had Fenton under his control with the evil, vile stunt he pulled by kidnapping Huey? Well, he’d show the Waddle CEO he wasn’t the same hero who had been tricked into working for his company all those months ago. After all, he was no longer intern Crackshell-Cabrera, but unofficial doctor Crackshell-Cabrera, full-time employee of none other than Dr. Gyro Gearloose.

“This time I’ll stop him for good,” Fenton declared. “All I need is a plan…”

He would put a permanent stop to the Waddle CEO’s schemes by finally having charges brought against him for his crimes. Most of the parrot’s attacks had been directly against him, and he couldn’t press charges without revealing his secret identity. This time he wouldn’t have to. By kidnapping Huey Duck, Beaks had indirectly attacked Scrooge McDuck, whether he realized it or not. All Fenton had to do was save Huey, report back to Mr. McDuck, and after that; Fenton was confident Mr. McDuck could buy and sell whatever legal team Beaks brought to his defense.

Or at least, he thought the frugal duck would. For his family’s sake, surely?

Huey had been kidnapped, and it was an awful, horrible thing to happen to a child. But after being rescued, maybe Huey would find some consolation at being the one who finally but a stop to Mark Beaks.

All Fenton had to do was come up with a plan to thwart whatever scheme the parrot had concocted.

And so he did. Pacing around the still drying floor and leaving webbed-footprints as he walked back and forth in front of the desk, one fist under his bill as he thought. He didn’t have much time; Beaks was never a patient bird and he had sounded especially antsy on the phone. He needed to come up with something fast and he needed to do it now.

Think, Fenton, think…

Beaks wanted to up his social media numbers, he had kidnapped a child, and he wanted Fenton’s help with something. How were they all connected?

_You’ve got your part to play and I’ve got mine_

The phrase repeated over and over in Fenton’s head and he had a thought. Could… Beaks be trying to gain popularity by saving Huey? The McDuck name always drew eyes, and as his last attempt at being a hero had failed so spectacularly; maybe the parrot was trying again? Only no suit, so it would just be him, and Fenton, who had a roll to play; the bad guy? Fenton shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. It was a complicated idea but it was the only one he could think of.

Fenton would be playing kidnapper while Beaks saved the day and no doubt sent someone to the underwater lab to steal the Gizmoduck suit while he did it.

Ha! As if Fenton would fall for that. He had told Beaks he was done being used by him and he meant it.

Then a metaphorical light bulb went off in Fenton’s head and he slammed a fist into his palm.

“Eureka!” His smile felt inappropriate, but it wasn’t every day he came up with a way to once and for all thwart his arch nemesis. And wow, he never thought he’d be calling anyone his arch nemesis; that was Mr. McDuck’s thing. But no one else came after Gizmoduck the way Beaks did, or rubbed him the wrong way.

His perfect week wasn’t ruined yet, and while the thought still infuriated him; it wasn’t Huey Duck’s first time being kidnapped either. The kid was a trooper, if anyone could stay strong in this situation, it was Huey. And he wouldn’t have to stay strong for long, because Gizmoduck would be there soon.

“Just hold on Huey, I’m coming.”


	2. Chapter 2

Fenton ran a hand through his hair as he stood in front of the hotel suite Beaks had given him the address to. It was on the top floor of a fancy hotel he had never been to; of course, he’d never been to any fancy hotel, but still. With its high ceilings, lush green carpet and pure white walls, it felt like the kind of place a kidnapper would demand a ransom. Well, Beaks could demand all he wanted, Fenton had a plan that would make sure the parrot never hurt anyone again.

It was fool proof. Or, Beaks proof at least. Same thing really, haha.

Ha. Ha.

He took a deep breath and adjusted his tie, careful not to touch the miniature microphone hidden underneath its knot. His plan had to work. He would march right into that room and play along with whatever Beaks had in mind right up until Huey’s location was revealed, then he would use the microphone in his tie to summon the Gizmoduck armor and rescue him. The armor was hidden inside a duffel bag in an alleyway not far off from the hotel. The receiver attached to it doubled as a recording device, which would give him the evidence he needed to finally put Beaks away for good.

A simple plan, but he hadn’t the time to think of anything more complex, and he already felt guilty for how long it had taken him to think of what he had.

After running a hand though his hair one more time, Fenton knocked on the door, unconsciously holding his breath as he waited for a response.

He didn’t have to wait long, and not seconds later the door was swinging open to reveal the most infuriating bird Fenton had ever had the displeasure of knowing.

Mark Beaks, clad in only a fluffy white bathrobe and wearing a pair of dark sunglasses that completely hid his eyes.

“Hey compadre, took you long enough.” Beaks smiled at him like this was a pleasant house call and not a hostage situation.

Fenton grimaced, never liking when the parrot used Spanish. It always sounded so forced from him and had this mocking bite to it that had Fenton suspecting Beaks was a bigger piece of scum than he already knew him to be.

He ignored it, though, instead scowling as he asked, “where’s Huey?”

Fenton didn’t have to see the parrot’s eyes to know he rolled them as he responded, “I told you, you’ll get the kid back after you help me—Now c’mon.”

Beaks stepped aside and with no small amount of trepidation, Fenton walked into the suite, stroking the length of his tie as he looked around. It looked exactly like what he had always guess a fancy hotel room would look like. Tall ceiling, white walls, high balcony overlooking the city, a giant bed with a phone on a tripod pointed at it.

Fenton blinked at that and came to a stop between the bed and the small hall that lead from the door to the room’s living area. There was no Huey in sight and Fenton frowned. There had been a small part of him that had hoped Beaks was holding his friend in the hotel, but apparently even Beaks knew better than to have the kid within Gizmoduck’s eyesight. If he had seen the kid, there was nothing on earth that could have stopped him from just grabbing the boy and flying off with him.

He heard the sound of a shower running and grimaced. The billionaire was just the kind of bird to let water run for no other purpose than to waste it. What a foul man.

Beaks came up behind him, fiddling with his phone like always, only coming to a stop beside Fenton as he apparently found whatever he had been scrolling for.

“You know her?” The parrot turned his phone around to show off a picture of a woman, a dog of some sort, that Fenton had never seen before in his life.

“No?” he answered, when all he really wanted to do was ask where Huey was and not stop until he got a solid answer.

“Oh man, what rock have you been living under? Or should I say what lake, but I already know.”

Fenton sighed.

“Look, just tell me what you want so we can get this over with.” He wasn’t usually so curt, but what could be expected under the circumstances?

“Calm down, Gizzy, we’ll get to it; now— Kourtney Cardachshund. She showed up out of nowhere two weeks ago and has been _obliterating_ the buzz worthy charts. Ever since she made her debut, I haven’t seen my name in the news _once_.”

“… and this is a crisis worth kidnapping over?” Fenton would never understand how birds like Beaks thought. Fame, popularity, what did it matter if there were people being harmed in the pursuit of it? Scientific minds like theirs were meant to help the world, not stand atop it and gloat about how many internet followers they had.

Beaks didn’t even bother responding to the question. Instead he started pacing in front of Fenton, pointing a finger at the ceiling as he finally told the duck what it was he needed help with.

“I’ve been thinking about what put her over the top; what could I do to beat it? Then I thought, doi, I’ll do what I always do—Steal her idea.”

Fenton would have asked what her idea was, but he had a feeling Beaks was about to tell him. So, he just stood, tapped one webbed-foot impatiently, and adjusted his tie to ensure he didn’t miss a single one of the parrot’s next words.

“You’re going to help me make a, wait for it…” Beaks clapped his hands and the room went dark, leaving the only light to come from a dim overhead light centered directly above the bed.

“A sex tape.” The parrot came to a stop by the bed, holding his arms out and waving his hands like he was presenting a new showroom car.

A what?

All the air was sucked out of the room and Fenton couldn’t breathe. His eyes were wide open and he’d heard those three illicit words, but they refused to register. He placed a hand on his chest and tried to force himself to take in air, but there was nothing to inhale.

“A… a what?” He had heard wrong, that was the only explanation. Fenton refused to believe anything else.

“Uh, a sex tape? Oh, wait—” Beaks held a finger up at him and started browsing his phone then smirked when he found whatever it was he was looking for. “El video sexual; you understand?”

“No.” Fenton stared at the bed like it was an open grave with his name on it.

“No, you don’t understand, or…”

“I’m not… I’m not doing it.”

“Uuuh, yeah you are.” Beaks laughed like his refusal was just an unfunny joke.

“No,” Fenton snapped, his denial replaced by disgust and anger. “I can’t believe you would ask me to… to do that with you!” His fists clenched by his sides and he glared at the parrot with all the animosity and revulsion he deserved.

“Uh, yeah, because I’m not. Asking. This is a _do as I say or the kid gets it_ , kind of situation. Kinda thought you’d picked up on that.” The dismissive way Beaks said it, just…

Unbelievable.

“No, no, no. I’m not doing it, I don’t care wha—where’s Huey? Just tell me where he is and… and I’ll forget this whole thing.” He’d burn his tie and delete all the audio recordings. He’d bash his head against the nearest wall until he couldn’t remember what Beaks looked like in a bathrobe.

The parrot snapped his sunglasses off his face, revealing his near-glowing eyes, and even in the dark Fenton could see the menace reflected in their sickly yellow depths.

“You’re. Doing. It. I can’t have some no-name basketball player’s wife have more followers than me! Once word gets out that there’s even a possibility that I have sex tape, the buzz won’t stop.”

That was the most absurd thing he had ever heard. Who cared about other people’s private lives? What did it matter if someone else had more followers on the internet? And—

“Why me then? You… there are people you can hire for this, ones who don’t hate you or have actually…” Fenton shook his head. “No, I won’t do it, Beaks.”

“You will; and you brought this on yourself, Gizzy,” the parrot said as he hooked the sunglasses on the v of his robe.

“ _What?_ ” Fenton intoned sharply.

“Because of what you just said.”

“What?”

“No. You told me no.”

“… _What?_ ”

“You’re here because you’re always ruining my plans, refusing to work for me, just generally annoying me—and oh, it also makes for _great_ blackmail.”

“So, you plan to… to what? C-copulate with me as some kind of sick, twisted revenge? Because I told you no?” Once again Fenton was struck with disbelief. No one could be so petty, so contemptible. To go so far as to use coercion for—

“What? No, ew, gross.” Beaks stuck out his tongue and shook his head in revulsion. “Blech, after I just washed those kid germs off of me? No way, Jose— I’m not going to do you; he is.”

Beaks pointed a thumb behind him just as the bathroom door swung open, steam pouring out and along with it a tall, robe-clad falcon.

Fenton looked the bird up and down trying to identify him: tall, muscular, a sharp beak and dark feathers. Nothing clicked. He had never seen the man before. Was he a… an adult actor? Another one of Beaks’ victims? Just some goon the parrot had hired to humiliate Fenton as much as possible?

“I’ll be the director for this little film we’ll be shooting. And Gizzy, this is Falcon Graves, your co-star.” Beaks stepped back from the duck, making room for the falcon to approach him. To which Fenton could only frown; he didn’t want anything to do with his supposed co-star. Or any of the nonsense Beaks was spouting.

Graves looked over the duck, and Fenton could tell he decidedly didn’t look thrilled at what he saw. Good, Fenton didn’t like what he saw either; a crook. It didn’t stop the other bird from walking over to where Fenton stood, making him crane his head up just to meet eyes with the taller bird.

A hand was held out to him in greeting and Fenton curled his beak down at it.

“Falcon Graves, it seems we find ourselves in similar predicaments, Mr. Crackshell.”

So, the man knew Fenton’s real name. Great. Did Graves know he was also Gizmoduck? It wouldn’t be a surprise, by his point who didn’t? But… Similar situations? Had Beaks kidnapped someone the man knew too? That would make him just as much a victim as—

No, no Fenton was thinking like what Beaks wanted to happen was going to. It wasn’t. Would never. He could save Huey without exposing himself in the worst way possible.

Graves cleared the back of his throat, drawing Fenton’s attention back to his outstretched hand.

“If it’s any consolation, I also wish to have no part of this. However, it would benefit us both if you would cooperate. The sooner we start the sooner we can part ways.”

“I don’t think so.” Fenton slapped the hand offered to him and rushed past Graves to dive at Mark, who shrieked and leaped back, holding his phone up high. The phone had to have Huey’s location in it. It had to.

“Gravesy!”

A hand grabbed hold of the back of Fenton’s shirt collar, and before he could even register his webbed-feet leaving the ground, he was landing hard on this back with an _oof_ ; all the air knocked out of his lungs. He took a moment to suck in a breath before rolling, narrowly dodging Falcon’s grasping hand.

“Just let me get his phone and neither of us will have to do anything,” Fenton said, still dodging, still trying to get closer to Beaks. It was hard, the falcon was fast and Fenton wasn’t the most athletic bird outside of his armor. Still, he couldn’t give up.

“If only it were that easy,” Graves sighed before throwing punch, hitting Fenton squarely in the beak, and nearly knocking him down. His beak throbbed painfully and he allowed himself a second to rub it, but he stayed standing, he’d been hurt worse under less dire circumstances.

“It is, just let me get his phone and I can save us both,” Fenton pleaded through the pain, still dodging, still trying to get closer to Beaks who was yelling at them both.

“Careful with the face! I’m not having some bruised duck in my shoot.”

“You’re not having any duck,” Fenton growled. “Bla—ack!”

Graves had grabbed him by the tie and pulled, causing it to tighten enough to choke him. Struggling for air, Fenton pulled at it, forgetting about the recording device hidden inside.

“Let… go…,” he wheezed, shaking his head and trying to step backwards, while also loosening the knot on his tie. He got it loose enough to breathe, but just as he did, Graves lifted up high and pulled it off his head, tossing it to the ground behind him.

No, oh no! Fear spiked in Fenton’s heart, almost paralyzing him. He needed his tie; needed his suit. Without it how would he get out of this? How would he save Huey?

“Mr. Crackshell, I’d like to get this over with as quickly as possible; the less time spent around Beaks, the better.”

“Heeey,” Beaks whined, but he was ignored by them both.

Graves cracked his knuckles and lunged for Fenton, who only just narrowly avoided being grabbed by leaping onto the bed and rolling to the other side. It created some distance between himself and the larger bird and offered him a short reprieve to think.

“Watch the tripod!” Beaks shouted at them both. Again, they ignored him.

Fenton needed to get his tie back without allowing the other bird to capture him. Without thinking about what would happen to him if the Falcon _did_ catch him.

“Just calm down and think about this,” Fenton said while assessing the amount of momentum he would need to leap from his side of the room to reach where his tie had landed. It was towards the back of the room, closer to the bathroom than to the bed. “What you’re doing is a serious crime. Whatever Beaks has on you, let me go and I can help.”

“No, I’m afraid you can’t,” Graves said just before he vaulted over the bed, catching Fenton by surprise and not giving him enough time to get away. He tried though, only to be shoved onto his chest over the edge of the bed, an arm wrenched painfully behind his back. Grunting, Fenton kicked at the other bird’s legs and was rewarded with a smack to the back of his head powerful enough to make him see stars. His free arm was then grabbed and twisted behind his back the same as the first. In a daze, he felt thin metal hoops, more akin to sheet metal than handcuffs, encircle his forearms and force them in place behind his back. He tried pulling, the position straining his shoulders and leaving him vulnerable, but it was as though the metal was magnetized together. It wouldn’t budge and the harder he tried, the deeper it dug in.

Pinned underneath a much larger bird, dread didn’t sink into Fenton’s stomach like a rock; it gutted him, leaving a wide-open space for panic to settle in as the blacks of his eyes shrank and his heart beat started racing against his pulse. Fenton started to thrash against his attacker, jerking and pulling any which way he could.

“Will you stop,” Graves ground out as he grabbed the duck’s bound arms and began dragging him behind him. Literally dragging him as Fenton refused to do anything but somehow try to latch his webbed-feet into the carpet. Never more in his life had Fenton wished ducks were birds with talons.

He shouted for Graves to stop, not to do this, but his words fell on deaf avian ears. And too soon he was being shoved forward and forced to his knees in front of Beaks, who had seated himself in what looked to be a director’s chair. That disgusting, sick, fu—

Graves grabbed him by his hair and yanked his head up, forcing him to stare up at the parrot, neck bared.

Beaks had a slight smile on his face, looking like he had just enjoyed a good show. A show that had gone exactly to plan and now he was waiting for the after-party.

“Hey- uh, I let your little tousle with Gravesy go on like that because it was hilarious, I mean you never stood a chance.” Beaks laughed and slapped his forehead in amusement, only to lean down directly into Fenton’s face, his expression once again threatening. “But you pull something like that again during my shoot, and you can say goodbye to your little red amigo, _comprende?_ ”

Fenton spat in Beak’s face. 

“¡Anda a ca—”

Something clicked around Fenton’s throat and he screamed.

Electricity sizzled around his neck, burning its way inside the soft tissue of his throat. Pain wracked his entire body, weakening his legs, his knees, and if not for Grave’s hold on his hair, he would have fallen back. He shook and pulled at his arms, beak hanging open, gasping between his mangled screams. His vision blurred and Fenton felt on the verge of passing out when he heard Beaks shout over his own screaming.

“Oh, c’mon, _shut up already_. It reacts to your vocal cords so the more you scream, the more it shocks you.”

He heard the words, they mushed around in his melted brain, and he snapped his beak shut with an audible clack. His screams had stopped, but there was nothing Fenton could do about the small trembles that passed over his body, the weak whimpers that only caused more shocks, however light, to his throat. His throat, which felt like someone had taken a hot iron to it. Not on it, through it. The pain had been immeasurable, even during his worst fights as Gizmoduck, Fenton had never felt something so horrid.

“Just a little insurance to make sure you don’t go all blathering bla-de-bla on us mid-shoot,” Beaks said, tapping the metal collar that had been fastened around Fenton’s throat. “That, and the whole hero routine is really grating. You know Graves is like, one of the most infamous corporate saboteurs on the planet, right?”

Hard as it was to think with his brain friend, Fenton somehow managed. A saboteur? So, he had been right during his first assessment of the falcon. He was a crook.

“That’s why he’s here,” Beaks explained. And Fenton wondered what Graves could have possibly stolen to end up as part of the parrot’s sick little revenge porn fantasy.

Revenge porn… Dios bueno, él va a estar enfermo.

Fenton’s stomach rolled in disgust, and if not for the collar around his neck, he would have thrown up. As it was, he forced the bile down, not wanting to risk more shocks lest they cause permanent damage.

It got him thinking about how the device around his neck worked. Did it react to the vibrations of his throat? Or was it the flow of air from his lungs during phonation that they registered? The shocks were connected to the level of sound they detected, meaning the sensors themselves were incredibly sensitive. They didn’t react to outside noise, nothing Beaks said, close as he was, sent off shocks. So, could that mean—

“He _ruined_ my chance to get on this year’s It List.” Beaks said, slamming his fists onto the arms of his chair.

Fenton rolled his eyes, because even not knowing what an It List was, the parrot’s whining sounded petty.

“Everything was perfect, Gravesy, all you had to do was hand over the phone, but noooooo. You had to pull an attitude.” Beaks huffed and leaned back in his chair. “I thought you were supposed to like, be a professional or something; I didn’t even lie to you that time.”

That time? Just what history did these two have? No, never mind. Fenton didn’t care because it didn’t matter. Strength was starting to return to his legs and the hand in his hair had loosened during Beak’s tirade. That meant… That meant what?

He couldn’t summon his suit, he couldn’t physically repel Graves, and Beaks had warned him against even trying. He didn’t know where Huey was and had no way of finding out, literally tied up as he was. He had to rely on Beaks keeping his word a telling him the kid’s locations after…

… was this really happening?

“Nothing is professional when you are involved, Beaks.” Falcon yanked the duck up so he was standing.

“Flattery’s not getting you out of this, Gravesy,” the parrot responded with a flirtatious purr. And gross, Fenton preferred the man’s threats over whatever that was.

“Now,” Beaks continued, “I read on a forum that before filming the crew will all have a good-luck shot; usually for first time actors to help settle their nerves.” The way Beak’s voice curled around the word nerves set Fenton’s off. Even more than they already were.

His heart was already close to exploding in his chest, and if not for the need to rescue Huey, he’d wish it would.

And shot? Of good luck? What was that? Some kind of sex drug?

It was then that he noticed the standing tray next to Beak’s chair, on it a crystal tumbler filled with some kind of clear liquid. Oh, Fenton hoped it was water, maybe that would soothe the burn in his throat, even just a little. Not that he would ever ask the parrot for it, or anything for that matter. He’d sooner bite the bird’s hand than accept anything from it.

Next to the tumbler were three small glasses filled with whatever liquid was within it.

“Gravesy,” Beaks nodded toward the glasses and the falcon huffed.

He gulped as the parrot picked up two glasses and pressed one against Fenton’s beak, which was clamped securely shut. The shot glass was pressed more firmly against his beak and Fenton tried to turn his head away, only for the hand in his hair to tighten, holding him still.

Whatever was in that tumbler was some kind of alcohol, or poison, or was drugged. Either way, Fenton wasn’t drinking it. He normally didn’t touch alcohol and he wasn’t about to start on Beak’s account. He could do… it, without a drink. Short of a brick to the head, there was nothing that was going to settle Fenton’s nerves anyway.

Noticing the duck’s hesitance, Beaks rolled his eyes and lifted up his own shot glass, giving it a little shake.

“It’s just a shot of tequila; your kind like that, right?”

Fenton snapped a glare at Beaks for the _his kind_ remark, but it didn’t ruffle his feathers the way it should have. Out of all the disgusting offenses Beaks was committing tonight, racism was somehow the least abominable one.

He still eyed the glass pressed against his beak warily, not trusting that tequila was the only thing inside. Catching on to one of the multitude of reasons Fenton had to refuse anything Beaks wanted to give him, the parrot scoffed.

“What, you think I drugged it? Puh-lease, if I was going to drug you, I’d just have Gravesy here shove it down your throat; waaay funnier.”

He looked from Beaks to Graves, the falcon giving him a small nod, silently urging him to acquiesce. The look of encouragement on the other’s face was combined with something else, something Fenton didn’t want to name, but did anyway; pity.

Pity. For him. A hero. Meant to… Wow, he was really failing on so many—

Fenton opened his beak and Beaks tilted the glass against it, pouring the tequila all in at once and giving him no choice but to down it in one quick gulp—And he immediately choked, almost spitting the alcohol up. It burned down his throat and spread to his chest, before finally settling in his stomach like a hot rock. If Fenton didn’t know the chemical properties of alcohol, he’d be worried it was eating through his stomach lining.

It also tasted terrible. Just terrible.

The coughs and sputters caused more shocks against his throat, and for a second Fenton actually feared he would die. His throat, previously burning from the shocks, now felt on fire, and it was only through sheer determination that he managed to force his verbal response to the alcohol back.

He didn’t see Graves drink his shot, but the falcon placed an empty glass onto the silver tray and Beaks gave a pleased hum, reclining back into his chair, crossing on leg over the other.

“So, like I was saying— I didn’t drug you because I thought, hmmm, what could be even worse for a hero filming a sex tape for me?” Beaks chuckled, taking some kind of perverse delight in hearing himself talk. But it was a dumb question, because there was nothing the parrot could do take make what was about to happen any worse— “Enjoying it, no drugs, just you losing your mind to pleasure while I watch.”

“So, Gravesy,” Beaks snapped finger guns at them. “Make him want it.”


	3. Chapter 3

He bit into the pillow, grinding its case between his teeth as saliva soaked into the fabric. His eyes were clenched shut as he tried to drown out the world around him with his own thoughts. Recounting every number of pi he could remember, repeating the entire boolean triples equation, summarizing the plots to every telenovela he had ever watched with his mother, which was admittedly not many. He was doing everything he could with his limited ability to pretend that there wasn’t a sharp beak digging into his tail as a wet tongue lapped at his dry entrance.

Fenton shuddered and hated himself for it.

After Beak’s order the falcon had dropped his robe, giving Fenton an eyeful of something he hadn’t wanted to see. The bird’s white, spotted chest, wide shoulders and how his body narrowed at the hips; Graves was an unfortunately attractive bird. Not that the man’s looks made any difference to him. Fenton still didn’t want him, this, anything that was happening to him. He hadn’t wanted the bird to slowly unbutton his shirt, pulling it down just enough to expose his shoulders, but no more. Fenton’s arms being tied behind his back prevented the falcon from completely stripping him. Which Fenton would not be grateful for, much as he was glad to not be completely bare in front of Beaks.

Fenton shuddered again and one of his legs jerked. He was on his knees, rear high in the air while his chest was flush with the mattress, his face purposefully shoved into a pillow. He wouldn’t give Beaks the satisfaction of seeing him react.

He swallowed and bit back a moan as Graves pushed deeper into him, the pleasure rolling through his body after every languid stroke of the other bird’s tongue, causing the member hidden behind his feathered folds to twitch. That he was reacting at all was a source of shame for the duck, even though rationally he knew there was nothing he could do to stop his body’s physiological reactions. But just how he couldn’t stop his body’s reactions, he couldn’t stop how they made him feel.

Guilt, humiliation, Fenton was giving Beaks everything he wanted and the most he could do in retaliation was keep his face out of frame.

From the back, he felt Graves finally pull away and Fenton sighed in relief, only to immediately tense as another shock struck his neck. The pain distracted him enough as to not feel two fingers pressing against his hole until they were already sliding in. Sliding in; he was wet. Another wave of disgust rippled though him, riding right alongside the pleasure as the fingers inside started pumping in and out, spreading him, prepping him for something much larger.

He tried to ignore the way the fingers sounded going in and out of him, but with no one talking, the wet squelch as his own fluids were pushed in and out of him was near deafening. Damning. He was slicked and his tail was stiff in the air, quivering in excitement. An excitement that was purely physical.

Fenton didn’t want this, he really, really didn’t.

His member threatened to drop from its folds again, and Fenton sucked in his stomach to stop it. He was already exposing so much of himself; he wouldn’t allow that final, private part of him to be revealed.

Beaks coughed, interrupting the silence.

“Uh, as the director, I’m going to have ask that _everyone_ show up to the shoot, keep things professional, just for you, Gravesy.” There was that flirtations purr again, and all Fenton could think about was shoving the pillow over Beak’s smug face.

Everyone _was_ here, unless the parrot had blackmailed another bird into joining his repugnant production. He wouldn’t but it past Beaks, at this point, he wouldn’t put anything past him.

“… drop down,” Graves told him, rubbing his free hand over where Fenton’s member lay hidden.

The realization of what Beaks had meant was a fast, mortifying one and Fenton shook his head into the pillow. No, he wouldn’t. They couldn’t make him, he was already… allowing so much, they couldn’t possibly expect more from him. But they could and the fingers over his folds split into a v and started pressing against the sides. Fenton squeaked, then jerked as he was shocked. His member started to peak through the folds and as it finally dropped tears pricked the corners of Fenton’s eyes.

He shoved his head further into the pillow, its cover absorbing the shameful liquid. They wouldn’t fall, he wouldn’t cry; not here, not in front of Beaks.

“There we go, now was that so hard?” Beaks cooed.

Fenton didn’t look at the parrot or even acknowledge he’d been spoken to.

“Che, you’re no fun, but don’t worry; you will be,” the bird said, and Fenton didn’t like the assumption he had ended that sentence with. But then, he didn’t really like anything going on right now, did he?

Graves pulled his fingers out and Fenton’s face burned hot as he felt himself clench around nothing, as the feathers around his stretched hole became sticky with his own natural lubricant. Repulsive. He was repulsive. He—

Tensed as he felt something hard pressing against his entrance. 

“You need to relax,” Graves whispered, and damn the bird for sounding gentle. Like Fenton’s comfort in any of this mattered. If he had just let Fenton get Beak’s phone, none of this would be happening.

“N—”

Fenton threw his head back as he was entered in one rough thrust, electricity making him see white for trying to speak.

His body shook as he was stretched wide, as something hot and hard pressed deeply into him. It didn’t hurt; he wished it did. Anything other than the warm pressure he felt, the larger bird’s member just… inside him, throbbing and making him feel the worst kind of full.

And with his head up, the pillow could no longer hide how wide his eyes were, the wetness around the edges. Fenton almost sobbed, his distress becoming too much, but Beaks interjected before he could make the mistake.

“Oh, nice shot.”

Fenton twisted his head to glare at the bird, hair falling into his face, teeth visibly clenched to stop himself from shouting every expletive he knew at the parrot.

Immediately, he wished he hadn’t looked. Beaks was leaning forward in his director’s chair, hands clenched on the edges of the armrests. The parrot’s sharp beak was open, the exposed feathers of his chest slowly rising and falling as he breathed deeply. The yellows of the man’s eyes were dark with arousal, and he shouldn’t have, but Fenton’s eyes glanced further down the bird’s body and saw something hard poking through the robe; his stomach flipped.

It had never crossed his mind that Beaks would find the situation sexually stimulating. That he would enjoy Fenton’s humiliation on a deeper level than mere pettiness.

Beaks saw him staring and his beak curved up in a sharp grin.

Fenton twisted his head back into the pillow, burying his head in its protective cover once again. Weak, hiding, he didn’t want to see Beaks enjoying himself. No one in the room should be enjoying what was transpiring. It was evil, and twisted, and—

His breath hitched and he gasped into the pillow, then tugged at his restraints hard enough that they cut into his skin when he was shocked again.

Graves had started to thrust, his large length sliding in and out of the duck with an ease that shamed him. His own member twitched and Fenton bit his bottom bill in an attempt to ignore his own arousal.

The thrusts were sharp, but mechanical, just two bodies pressing together with no intensity or real desire between them. And in his mind Fenton pictured the desk ornament of those silver, swinging balls that knocked into each and reacted to the other’s momentum. Only there was no momentum between himself and Graves, nothing to react to; neither of them wanted to be on the bed, doing what they were doing.

What pleasure he felt was dull, and the longer it continued, the easier he could ignore it. He had even started to list all the elements on the periodic table in his mind when Graves thrust into him hard enough to rock Fenton forward, pushing his face deeper into the pillow.

He grunted and his leg kicked on impulse when he was shocked.

The pace picked up from there, Graves thrusting harder, deeper into Fenton, making his knees slide back and forth on the bed. A hand pulled painfully at his tail and another gripped his hip hard enough that he knew there’d be bruises underneath his tan feathers. And he didn’t have to look at himself to know his stiff member was leaking pre-cum. The pain should have stopped him from feeling pleasure, but it didn’t. He twisted his head to the side and strained his eyes upwards to look at Graves, hoping to non-verbally convey that the falcon needed to slow down, because this was wrong.

They shouldn’t be enjoying it.

What he saw made his beak wet with something Fenton refused to call desire.

Graves looked out of it. His beak was hanging open and dark, sweaty hair had fallen into his eyes. It was like the man couldn’t even see the bird he was thrusting into. What peeks Fenton did get of the falcon’s eyes behind strands of hair were concerning. The bird’s eyes looked glassy and the blacks dilated. Almost like he was… but Beaks had said…

What was going on?

“You… what did you do to me?” Graves grunted from behind him, his voice kicking up in a whine that had Fenton’s heart thumping heavily in his chest. The falcon sounded good, sounded se— His eyes widened at the almost thought. 

No. Nonono—

Beaks laughed.

“I said I wasn’t going to drug Gizmodork—Never said anything about you, Gravesy.”

The realization of what happened struck Fenton like hot iron. Beaks had convinced Fenton to drink in an underhanded effort to indirectly lower Grave’s guard so he would drink too. One that had worked.

“Why, you—” Graves growled, but whatever he was about to say was cut off by a husked moan. The man ran a hand through his hair, making it fall to the side of his head.

The hand on Fenton’s tail pressed into the feathers and slide forward up his back, sending shivers of pleasure through the duck’s body. The hand tracing up his back stopped at his bound arms and gripped them like a handle. He was abruptly pulled up and he hissed at the painful angle his shoulders were forced into. Then choked, shocked again. If the humiliation of being so completely exposed didn’t kill him, the hole burning into his neck would. 

“Apologies, I—” Graves didn’t finish his sentence before he was roughly pulling Fenton down onto his throbbing member, the duck’s body jerking back in time with every harsh thrust.

Pleasure shot through him the same as electricity as he cried out, black dots dancing in his vision as he lost control of his voice, keening and moaning as he was repeatedly slammed into, electricity shocking his throat to the point of numbness. His beak parted as he panted, tongue flopping to the side, as he struggled to breath through his whimpers of both pain and pleasure.

Pleasure, pain, it was melting his mind and had he the breath, he would have laughed, the edges of his beak twisting upward in a half-delirious smile. Splatters of pre-cum fell to the bed as his member tingled and tightened, the duck close to releasing without ever having been touched.

The hand holding Fenton up released him and he only just barely managed to stop from biting his own tongue as his chest fell to the bed. One of his legs was gripped and the duck was turned to his side, Graves managing to thrust even deeper into him at the new angle.

From his position on his side, Fenton had no choice but to look at Beaks, though his vision was blurry. He could see gray, yellow, the white of the bathrobe, but details were lost on him. Everything was lost on him, he couldn’t think, only feel. The duck forgetting he was supposed to hate what was happening to him as he moaned and jerked at the shocks it produced.

Beaks’ blurred figure then dropped smoothly from the chair to his knees, the parrot sliding across the floor on them and stopping once he reached the edge of the bed; right next to where Fenton’s head lay. He rested his head on the bed and Fenton didn’t have a mind to move away. They were close enough that the breath from their beaks mingled, creating a hot, damp space in the short distance between them.

“You look good like this.”

The words were softly spoken, and Fenton’s brain must really have been fried if the only way he could think to describe Beak’s voice was affectionate.

Beaks’ eyes raked over his body in a longing, covetous look that Fenton had only ever seen directed toward the Gizmoduck armor. Having it pointed at the man inside sent chills down his spine. It was almost enough to snap him out of his delirium, but then a hand—Grave’s? Beaks’?—was wrapping around his member, thumb rubbing along the tip, and he was right back into it.

The parrot hummed and watched Fenton through half-lidded eyes and the duck looked right back, his own eyes dangerously close to closing as carnal pleasure consumed him. He noticed that both the bird’s hands were grasping the edge of the bed. That meant it wasn’t Beaks who was touching him.

That was… that was good.

“You’re close, right?” Beaks murmured, this time to the both of them. “Go ahead, do it; let me see.”

The gentleness of the parrot’s tone sent desire tingling from the duck’s tail straight to his leaking member. Fenton wanted gentle and he wanted his hair stroked and he wanted the hands on his hips to rub, soothe, he wanted to stop hurting and… and… For a terrible moment, Fenton thought Beaks was going to kiss him. For a terrible moment, he wanted him to.

It was enough to finally tear his eyes away from the parrot, clenching his eyes shut as release finally tore through his body; throat too sore to moan, he whimpered as he came, curling in on himself as much as he could with his arms tied behind his back and a leg held in the air.

His entire body clenching, Graves groaned and gave few more stuttering thrusts before he too was cumming, spilling hot disgusting fluid deep into Fenton’s trembling body. It filled him, and he felt dribbles of it leaking out the sides where he was stretched around the falcon’s member.

Fenton’s vision went black, but only for a moment, as he forced himself to remain conscious through sheer willpower alone. It meant he was aware of the bed shifting when Beaks pushed himself up, felt Grave’s limp member slip from his aching hole, cum mixed with his own natural fluids catching on his bottom feathers, dripping onto his thighs and to the bed.

Graves released his hold on Fenton’s leg and the duck rolled back onto his front, his own cum staining his stomach feathers. A soft click soon followed; the collar around his neck and the metal bands around his arms releasing at the same time. His arms fell to his sides, but Fenton didn’t have the strength to move them, couldn’t even think to. He lay on the bed in a daze, panting as he came down from the high of his own release.

Barely having moved on the bed, Fenton felt as though he’d run a marathon. Or maybe competed in an iron-duck competition. It would explain why his arms, from the elbows down, were numb. But much as Fenton wished that were the case, he knew he couldn’t delude himself into believing it, he wasn’t that far gone… anymore.

As he lay there, the heat of the room began to cool, the sticky mess on his rear starting to dry and stiffen his feathers to an uncomfortable degree. All of Fenton was uncomfortable, though. From his rear, to his arms, to his neck; if he even still had a neck, he couldn’t feel it anymore.

He didn’t know how long he lay on the bed, aware but unaware all the same. Long enough for Beaks to have removed the phone and packed away the tripod. For him to have wrapped a still out of it looking Graves in a robe. Not long enough for the self-disgust and revulsion to have come crashing down in him, yet. He knew he would feel it, but right then, as he watched Beaks fiddle with the cellphone he’d used to record the criminal degeneracy, all he could feel was numb.

“Not sure if I want to…,” the parrot muttered to himself, the bird close enough to the bed for Fenton to hear. Noticing his audience, Beaks smiled at him. Fenton’s expression remaining flat in response, too tired to even glare.

“Gizzy, that was… I mean wow— If the hero thing doesn’t work out, you could always make it as a porn star.” The sincerity in the parrot’s voice was enough for Fenton to finally feel something; a flash of irritation.

He forced his arms to move and pushed himself up, only able to get his chest off the bed before his arms were shaking. Beaks looked Fenton over as the duck struggled, his thick brows pulled into an expression the duck couldn’t place.

Made all the more confusing when the parrot slid and arm down Grave’s robed back, the touch light and almost experimental. Like Beaks was trying something out, only to be emboldened when the falcon didn’t resist. But how could he? It was obvious he was still under the effects of the drug. His lumbering stance, the way his head hung low, that he was allowing Beaks to touch him in such a casual manner. The parrot leaned in, still smiling as he snapped a selfie of himself and Graves. More blackmail?

Beaks didn’t remove his hand from the small of the falcon’s back, slowly sliding it up and down, as he turned back to face Fenton. The man's expression still unfamiliar, or so he told himself. Because he couldn’t be seeing warmth behind those yellowed eyes. The heat of hatred, maybe.

“Well, this has been an experience, Gizzy. I mean really, never would have thought that I…” Beaks shook his head, eyes unreadable as he regarded both the duck and the falcon.

Fenton should… tell Beaks to let Graves man go. The man was still under the influence of the drug; he shouldn’t be going with their assailant. Beaks murmured something up to the falcon, the words too soft for Fenton to hear.

But he could hear Graves as he faintly responded.

“No, I…” Graves trailed off, too out of it to finish the thought, and Fenton knew he had to do something. He had to… save the man. Who had… Who had…

No, Fenton was a hero, he had to save… but he had… was here for…

“Hu… ey,” he said, voice rough. It was all he could say, his throat pained to the point that Fenton knew there had to be permanent damage.

Beaks didn’t even look at Fenton as he answered, too busy staring at his phone as he guided a docile Graves toward the door. The parrot seemingly in a hurry to leave now that filming was over. Likely to get the drugged falcon wherever he was taking him before the effects wore off.

“Suite next door, key is in the drawer beside the bed.”

Ice sliced through Fenton’s heart, freezing him in place.

“See you next crime,” Beaks called as he closed the door behind himself and Graves, but the words passed over Fenton, the duck still reeling from the revelation of Huey’s whereabouts.

The suite next door…

Fenton stared blankly at the drawer beside the bed. White, modern looking, unassuming; Huey had been that close the whole time? The key to his rescue literally feet away?

The ice stabbing his heart melted away, and its pulse picked up double-time.

He lunged for the drawer, nearly falling off the side of the bed as he yanked it open. Inside was a simple black cardkey. Fenton’s head swayed as he looked at the key, seeing it, but not. He saw through the key, through the drawer, to the floor below. So close, the whole time.

Robotic, Fenton stood from the bed, not even flinching when he immediately fell; he just shook his head and used the edge of the bed to push himself back up. His legs hurt, but so did everything. He needed to clean off, clean… out. He couldn’t go to Huey as he was. The kid was in a hotel suite, he was fine. Probably watching TV as he waited for Gizmoduck to save him.

On shaky legs, Fenton took slow deliberate steps toward the bathroom, not wanting to fall again. Unsure if he could get back up if he did. Inside, he didn’t look around at its size, didn’t marvel at the giant, beautiful glass shower. He just tossed his shirt to the floor and stepped inside it. He turned the water on, the metal handle going as far as it could in the hot direction. The water poured down on him, scalding, but it didn’t burn as much as his throat.

Slowly, he used the soap already inside the shower to clean himself. As he did, he waited for the shock of… everything to wear off. He waited, and he scrubbed, and he rinsed; inside and out. Even as thick clumps of cum dripped from his hole, mixing with the shower water and going down the drain; he felt nothing. Except the filth that cloyed to his feathers, refusing to come off no matter how hard he scrubbed. It was like he had gone swimming in the ocean after an oil spill; its inky blackness coating his body and when Fenton looked down at his hands, he swore he could see it dripping off.

He waited for the disgust, but all that came to his mind was the million different ways he could have prevented it. Like reporters after a natural disaster, listing all the ways the damage could have been mitigated too late after the fact. Only this hadn’t been a natural disaster, it had been his own failure. As a scientist, as a hero, as a… man. There were so much he did wrong. Arrogance, that had been his downfall. He had been so sure of himself that he hadn’t contacted anyone for help. Being threatened against it was no excuse, there were ways he could have alerted to Mr. McDuck if he had really tried. He could have attacked Beaks head-on; he should have searched the hotel before ever knocking on the parrot’s door. Called for the armor the second after Beaks told him his plan. Checked the room more thoroughly. Done whatever it took to defeat Graves. Never should have tried reasoning with the falcon.

He could have done… so much more. But he had failed, he had… lost. That’s what this was, right? That’s all it would be. Gizmoduck had lost fights before, that’s all this was. Another defeat as a hero. Even out of the armor, that’s all Beaks saw him as. The parrot still had yet to use his civilian name. He wouldn’t let it get to him more than that. Couldn’t.

Fenton turned the water off once it had started to seep through his water proof feathers, stinging the cuts on his arms where the metal binds had dug into him.

He stepped out of the shower and dried off with a towel on the rack beside the sink. The mirror fogged; Fenton used a hand to clear it enough to see himself. He needed to check for visible injuries. His beak had been hit pretty hard by Graves, and then there was his throat, still feeling charred. He needed to see so he could cover it up. He couldn’t let Huey see him weak. His friend was expecting a hero to burst through the door and rescue him, and that’s what he was going to get.

Not some weak, failure who…

Fenton’s eyes widened and he tentatively pressed the tips of his fingers against singed, black feathers that encircled his neck. Exactly where the collar had been. Even his faint touch was enough to make him flinch and he quickly snapped his hands onto the sink’s edge, gripping hard enough to make the feathers on his knuckles stand.

Underneath the blackened feathers, his skin had been burned, badly. The kind of burn that required immediate medical attention. The kind of medical attention Fenton wouldn’t be getting from anyone but himself. And not until after he rescued Huey.

Without realizing, Fenton had started to rock on his webbed-feet, his shoulders hunched and head down as he stared down into the sink. He rocked and rocked and—Wait, what was he doing? Fenton shook his head and pushed himself away from the sink. He picked up his shirt and put it on. The pure cotton felt scratchy and constraining on his still damp feathers.

He buttoned it up as he walked out of the bathroom, head down as he did. Clean, put on clothes, grab card, save Huey. Clothes… his tie. Fenton blinked and spotted it on the floor. He would have to bend down to pick it up. Stepping over it, he decided he would come back for it later, after freeing Huey.

No, he wouldn’t. Fenton ran a hand through his hair, water droplets falling to the floor and turned back around and, with great strain, bent down and picked up his tie. Useless thing— He would never come back to this hotel so long as he lived.

Oh, not useless. Idea. Fenton tied it around not his shirt collar, but his neck, right over where the metal collar had been. Now, Huey wouldn’t see his burnt feathers. Smart kid would question how he’d gotten them inside the Gizmoduck suit. The tie around his neck may have looked ridiculous, but it suited a fool like him.

A deep breath, and Fenton walked back over to the bed, his head turned away from it toward the room’s exit. He didn’t want to look at the scene of his greatest defeat. He just wanted to grab the room key and get out; so he did.

Leaving the room didn’t lift any great weight from his shoulders and he walked as though burdened through the hotel’s hallway, only stopping once he reached the closest suite to the one he had just left.

The key opened it and Fenton stepped into a pitch-black room. Odd. Maybe Huey was sleeping, bored after his hero had taken so long to save him. He flicked on the light and gasped, the cardkey dropping to the floor as he rushed toward the bed in the middle of the room.

On it lay a tied up, blindfolded, and gagged Huey Duck. Who had started screaming behind his gag as soon as the lights had flicked on.

“Hu... Huey, it’s me, Fenton.” Every word felt like rusted, serrated blades were slicing their way up his throat, but Fenton forced them out anyway. “I’m here, you’re safe.” He tore off the duckling’s blindfold and pulled the white cloth that gagged him out of his beak and over his head.

“F-fenton…” Tears spilled from Huey’s eyes and wetting Fenton’s shirt as he struggled to untie the knotted rope around the kid’s wrists. “I wanna… I wanna…” Whatever Huey was trying to say was drowned out as the kid started to bawl, coughing and crying, rubbing his head into Fenton’s chest as the knot finally started to loosen.

There was blood on Huey’s binds, staining his white feathers red. The duckling must have struggled so hard for so long…

Binds off, he lifted Huey up, sat on the bed, and held the duckling in his lap, hugging him tight and rubbing his friend’s back as he cried and shook.

“Shh, it’s okay Huey, you’re safe now, it’s over.” He rocked on the bed, stroking Huey’s head. “I’ve got you, you’re alright.” The shaking subsided, but sniffles and tears still came from the young duck. And Fenton wouldn’t tell him to stop. Huey could cry all night and Fenton would be right here with him.

“It’s over, it’s okay, I have you,” he repeated the words as a comfort to Huey, but the more he said them, the more his own body started to tremble. Tiny arms wrapped around him, the duckling returning the hug as though he sensed Fenton’s own distress. It was pathetic; out of the two of them, it was the hero who was the weak one.

His breath hitched and his heart felt like it was pounding outside of his chest. Everything was crashing down around him. Pathetic, weak; he’d enjoyed it while Huey suffered alone. _He let it happen_. A failure. He didn’t deserve the armor, didn’t deserve Huey’s friendship.

“… it’s over, it’s alright.”

Violent tremors wracked his body and Fenton hugged Huey tighter, clutching the duckling to his chest as hot shame spilled down his cheeks.

“You’re okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First time writing something so dark. The goal here was an abrupt change of tone, followed by heroic denial, and then total degradation. Also, didn't add Graves to the tags because I wanted his reveal to be a bit of a surprise. Lemme know what you thought. 
> 
> Feedback, criticism (constructive) is appreciated.


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